


Grace in the Mistakes

by imperfectkreis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of tumblr drabbles with female!Trevelyan as a companion.  She maybe has a thing for the Inquisitor, and the Inqiuisitor's boyfriend, whoops. The female Inquisitor is left ambiguous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It had always been my intention to work this concept into a longer story, but with the rapidly approaching release date of Fallout 4, and other fic commitments, I'm not sure when that'll happen. In the meantime, uh, here?

The Inquisition sends her a letter, all formal like, that they want to meet with the eldest child of House Trevelyan. Really the trouble is that the courier comes while she’s otherwise occupied. Shame, making the pretty woman in her rented bed wait. 

But the courier is pretty too. Sabina nearly invites him to join them, would make the blush creep up his ears for sure. But she takes the Inquisition’s missive and waves him off. When he doesn’t leave, she glares before realizing the sheet she’s wrapped around herself as slipped from about her breast. So, turns out the pretty agent wants a show after all. She slams the door in his face.

The next week the Inquisitor herself comes, a little, feline wisp of a woman, with a nose to die for and barely any waist to speak of. Sabina asks first if she could use a drink, second if she could use the company. The Inquisitor is more interested in gold.

“And what makes you think I’ll open my purse strings for you?” She curls her lip, sliding one of her legs between the Inquisitor’s. The difference in their heights is dramatic, maybe eight inches or so. That’s nice, so nice, like she could swallow her up. As Sabina steps, the Inquisitor retreats. And retreats, until her back is against the wall and she’s swallowing sweetly. 

Before her mouth opens, the Inquisitor’s hand presses in front of her lips. “I was told the Trevelyans are very devout. That they have always helped the Chantry.”

“Are you the Chantry? Because I heard the opposite.” She takes a fistful of the Inquisitor’s hair, letting the strands run like water through her fingers. 

“No,” she admits, defeated.

Sabina steps back, looks for her glass. “Lucky you.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Sabina finishes sharpening her own knives, smaller than her palm and catching the lamplight along the blade, she starts on Sera’s. The archer’s are ill kept, far too dull to be effective. Sera counters that she doesn’t need them to be effective, just threatening. Holding it between her index and middle fingers like a claw, she can be mighty scary. Besides, she’d rather stab a bloke with an arrow anyway. That’s not the point of carrying knives, but Sabina isn’t about to argue. Planting her heels on the tavern table, she resumes her work, Sera filling the air with idle chatter about women she’s fucked and men she’s fucked over.

“Oh, excuse me, the Inquisitor said I could find you here.” 

Sabina wills her hands to keep moving, to keep her eyes on Sera’s knife and her ears on the slick of metal against the whetstone. The ‘you’ addressed is so generally, it really could refer to either of the women, or none of them. Maybe the Commander is completely mistaken. Besides, what could the Inquisitor want at this hour? 

“And how can we help, Com-man-der,” Sera says his title like it’s hilarious. Like she can’t believe it belongs to that body. 

Sabina can believe it. Because he’s tall, broad, handsome, looks like he walked out of a storybook. Sabina wants to rip out his pages, tear them to fine confetti to strew about her cot. 

“Well, yes, there is the matter of a number of locked doors in the basement of the Chantry. One of the Sisters who abandoned Haven…”

Tossing aside the whetstone, Sabina interrupts. “You want to go trawling through shit that isn’t yours?”

The Commander stutters at first, his cheeks turning pink under gold-brown stubble. Sabina stands, kicking her chair back into place, noisy against the floor. While her fingers almost reach for him, she draws back with false hesitance. 

“I’ll open them, follow me.” She beckons him to fall into step beside her.

“But Sabina, we-” Sera starts.

Glaring fiercely at the blonde, Sabina hopes Sera gets the message. They’d cracked the locks earlier in the day. But there is no reason for the Commander to know this. 

The Chantry floor is an even better venue to leave Cullen in tatters.


	3. Chapter 3

Sabina runs her finger along the Inquisitor’s jaw, hoping for a sharp inhalation laced with uncertainty that never comes. Maybe the pretty little thing isn’t frightened anymore. Not with the weeks Sabina has been in the Inquisition’s employ, doing a whole lot of nothing other than entertaining Sera with snide, dirty comments under her breath and annoying the Commander with errant touches and covertly obscene suggestions. 

But while the Inquisitor doesn’t show fear, she doesn't smile either, she doesn’t beckon. Instead she holds perfectly still under the touch. Certainly it is too intimate, but maybe she is naive enough not to notice the suggestion Sabina is always in the process of making. Just a suggestion, nothing too serious.

Her eyes widen, as if she has realized something quite suddenly. Sabina smiles at that, puts her fingers to her face again, lighter this time. When the Inquisitor’s eyes dart up and hold hers, she applies pressure to the girl’s face. Her puffy cheek dips in as Sabina presses against it.

“It’s not real?” the Inquisitor questions.

Sabina withdraws her hand, drops it to her side. “What do you mean?”

“Your hand. It’s cold, it’s not real.” She says it with such assurance. 

Smirking, Sabina tries her best to throw her off. “Your cheeks are flushed.”

One of the Inquisitor’s thin hands goes to her face, all knobby-knuckled. She must feel the warmth there, pulling it away and staring at her palm as if surprised. “I guess so.”

And then there is that breath of surprise that Sabina craves, just as she bends forward to kiss the Inquisitor on her rosy cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen smells like sweat and the one ale he managed to down in a hurry as Sabina swayed away, intent on returning to her quarters, unable to look at the Commander for long. His footsteps chase her through the courtyard until he walks at her side. He is concerned for her, how quaint. But she knows well enough how to place one foot before the other, repeat the process. Taking three or four steps on her toes, she proves her grace, even under intoxication. Cullen reaches forward, as if he is afraid she might fall; she doesn’t. She won’t. Not with him watching, that’s for fuck’s sure.

They reach her door. Testing the handle, it’s open, but she doesn’t turn it. His heat is unmoving at her back. Walked her all the way home, what a knight he is. But she’ll never be his princess. 

Turning, her back presses against the door, one foot anchored between the both of his, not touching, not quite. He should go, but she won’t demand it of him. She reaches for the fur at his shoulder, tangling her fingers in it. Careful not to squeeze too hard, she’ll tear him apart otherwise. To feel the breaking of him under her hands would be so welcome, the coming undone between breaths. 

Sabina whispers that the Inquisitor doesn't have to know. That she doesn't mind, not in the least. Despite what the others seem to think, her lips are never really loose, even when wine stained. She hasn’t breathed a word of this, of them, thus far. Not to a fucking soul.

Hesitating, then a step back, Cullen isn't sure at first what she is implying. His voice hitches, but no word tumbles out. An arrested desire.

Wide-eyed, only for a moment, Sabina realizes her misstep, covers it deftly. "That I was drinking tonight, I'll be well enough to travel by morning. She doesn't have to know." She unfurls her clenched fist from his coat.


	5. Chapter 5

“Don’t mind me,” she says in a voice that screams ‘pay attention’ in the softest of tones. “I’m only thinking on how very beautiful she is. Lovely to look at.” The very tip of Sabina’s tongue flattens between the closed gates of white teeth.

Cullen knows his teeth are not so very white, because while he did not grow up in squalor, no one really cared about such things among the templars, among common folk before that. One of his teeth, in the back, is chipped. He can’t remember when or how, When he runs his tongue against it, bubbling up his cheek in the process, he can feel the jagged edge. It strikes him that he must look quite silly, the Artificer watching him as he plays with his tongue in his own mouth. He couldn’t help it, thinking about what their mouths could do against one another.

“You shouldn’t leave the Inquisitor waiting,” she says, turning back to her work table. Shoulders hunched, she has dismissed him. “She probably misses you already.”


End file.
